Larri, Larri, quite contrary….

I’ve always been jealous of other people’s gardens.  Fresh grown tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and green beans?  Yes please, I’ll take six.  Yummy!  My mouth would water with envy every summer at the thought of fresh caprese salads, sautéed green beans and gallons of homemade tomato sauce canned and stored for winter.  Well that longing ends now!

I am determined to claim a little piece of this heaven.  Homegrown salads WILL be on my dinner menu this summer!  I WILL make home-made pesto and it WILL be delicious!  Ladies and gents Larri’s gonna plant herself a garden.  Hold on to you chonies because things are going to get interesting!

All that determination aside, I have made a few small attempts in the past at gardening and they’ve all turned out miserably.  There was the spring I decided I was going to grow all the flowers for our wedding.  This Super Bride was going to save us hundreds by growing a bunch of random flowers in random sized pots I had picked up for pennies at a garage sale.  Thank god someone was smart enough to budget some “just in case” funds or we would have been stuck with one half dead calla lily.  I tried growing tomatoes in one of those topsy-turvy things.  People, children are supposed to be able to make those things produce tomatoes.  My plants never even got big enough to turn the dam contraption over.  Oh and I can’t forget the strawberries I tried to grow, also in pots on the deck.  I got one strawberry to grow.  The dog ate it.

There have also been several fresh herb gardens I have managed to slowly kill.  I plant one every year in a co-co nut husk lined window box hanging on our deck.  I have this fantasy of stepping out of my kitchen onto the deck for fresh herbs that I will eloquently toss into a gourmet meal I am effortlessly preparing.  I mentioned this is a fantasy right?  It’s usually dead before the summer is even half over and when I am cooking I can barely even remember what I have growing out there.  One year it got so dried out it caught fire and burned a hole through our deck.  You read that right.  My gardening skills are so bad I have STARTED THINGS ON FIRE!

After some thoughtful reflection I figured out what my problem was.  All of my gardening attempts have been in some sort of pot somewhere on our back deck.  Clearly that is the root of the problem.  If we are going to get serious results here we need some real estate to plant this garden.  I mentioned this to my Mom who, by the way, has a fabulous over producing garden every year, and she sent me some plans for DIY cedar planters.  Now all I had to do was convince J.  Considering the above mentioned fire it would be no small task to convince him that, not only would I be able to grow anything, but that we should dedicate an entire Saturday to building these planters.  I must have looked really good that day because somehow a few Saturday mornings ago we found ourselves at Home Depot (I like to call it THE De-Pot).

I had my DIY plans in hand and after some further guidance from the big harry guy at The De-pot we headed home to jerry-rig these bad boys together.

Those boards are actually cedar fence planks.  I read on the internets that cedar is weather resistant and to save money you can buy fence planks instead of cut lumber, so we did!  The big guy at The De-Pot suggested using grade steaks to hold everything together and steak the planters into the ground.  We pretty much winged it from there.  First we laid out all of the boards with a buddy.  We decided we were going to build them two planks high.

Then we used the grade steaks to stick them together like so:

Here is picture of J doing all the work while I stand around and “look for another drill”

We did fudge up and buy screws that were too long but one call to my Dad and he told us we could probably just knock off the excess with a hammer.  Sounds crazy right?  Wouldn’t you know it though, it totally worked:

Then J had to go to work.  I MIGHT have spent too much time wandering around the garden center at The De-pot fantasizing about my future garden.  Or I MIGHT have spent more time fake looking for tools and talking to my Dad on the phone than actually helping to build these things.  Either way we were out of time.  We packed it in and J headed to work.

Then I got a wild hair up my butt and decided it would be fabulous if I got them all finished before J got home from work.  It would be a, “surprise, aren’t you glad you don’t have to spend part of your Sunday finishing this crazy project” present.  So I called my little sister for help, we’ll call her Glitter.

She loves shit that sparkles.  But she has not always been this way.  When were kids she was quite the tomboy.  I have a vivid memory of an after-school program teacher asking what our favorite colors were and I sweetly replied “pink!” while she practically belched out “BLACK!”.  She was also always an athlete.  While she is my little sister in almost every sense of the word she could probably kick my ass.  I take that back, could definitely can kick my ass.  She is four years younger than me, at least 6 inches shorter, and probably a good 50lbs lighter.  She can also bench press a truck.  Even when she was in high school I used to call her She-Ra (remember her?  He-man’s sister).  I on the other hand have arms that resemble wet noodles.  Even in my brief athletic stent when I was “weight training” I had to use the light bar and never got more than ten pounds on it.  It was pretty pathetic.  It still is. 

Back to my point I needed someone with some guns to help me hammer these things into the ground.  She graciously agreed to help do all the work.  Honestly between the two of us and MB screwing them together and hammering them into the ground I bet we were done in less than hour.  J was pretty floored when he got home.  Probably mostly because we didn’t wreck anything. 

In all of their glory:

I know what you’re thinking, “what about your little herb garden you plant every year?”  Don’t you worry, I still made that happen.  Cross your fingers I don’t catch anything on fire!

Summer Fun: I might have been putting this off….

**Warning:  This post got LOOONG.  If you don’t have time to read it, skip down to the last paragraph.  That’s pretty much all you need to know.

A few post ago I mentioned that we were on our two week wait for the third time.  Then I kinda left ya’ll hanging.  Sorry about that.  I just really wanted to wait to write this post until after we had our new game plan.  Here it goes.

I actually got a visit from Aunt Flo the day before I was supposed to test and as much as I tried to be in denial she was intent on making her presence KNOWN.  I’m not sure if it’s just me or if there is actually science behind it but after these “assisted” cycles it feels like she’s angry at me or something.  In my head she’s all,“You tried to keep me away for nine months but you have failed (evil laugh).  I will now strike down upon thee with GREAT VENGEANCE and FURIOUS ANGER!”.   Is it just me or does that bitch sound a lot like Samuel L. Jackson?

To put it mildly there was no mistaking this for ANYTHING other than what it was.  Our third IUI attempt had failed, but being the good little soldier I am I waited a day and took my pregnancy test.  I called the RE’s office and a nurse called me back.  She explained to me that Captain had written in my chart that the next battle plan was IVF.  I don’t want to leave the wrong impression here.  That was not the first time I’d heard that.  Captain told me before and during our round of IUI that if it was unsuccessful that her recommendation would be IVF.  But I still didn't want to hear it.  It’s a game changer.

I know I've written a lot about the financial burden of all of this several times.  I know all of you reading this that have children probably think I’m being shallow.  You are probably all thinking, “There is no amount of money that I wouldn't pay for my Angel!  He/she is perfect in every way and worth every penny ever spent on anything in the history of the universe!” and I don’t doubt that at all.  But try to remember that we are not paying for a baby.  We are paying for the possibility of one.  My husband summed it up best.  If I told you I was going to go to Vegas and put 10 G’s on red you would slap me in the face, dump a bucket of water on my head, and try to shake the stupid out of me.   Well our odds of this working are less and our investment is more.  Does that mean we aren't going to go through with it?  Not yet.  But for many couples the financial burden of fertility treatments does prevent them from pursuing their dreams of becoming parents.  I pray we don’t get there.

Now while the financial aspect of the process is not going to stop us at this point, it is still a major stressor.  Luckily we have not had to take out any loans thus far.  But we will.  IVF is about ten times as expensive as IUI so we are probably not going to be able to bankroll this shindig without some assistance.  Usually with large purchases we try to save our money ahead of time and pay cash.  We've been pretty successful at this since we got married.  However we don’t have time to save up for this.  I turned 31 on Friday.  Every year after you turn 30 your egg quality decreases.  Due to the endometriomas that my eggs call roommates, mine are already on the crap side of the quality scale, best to not do anything to make them move further down that slippery slope.  Luckily we have good credit so we should be able to take out a loan with a relatively low interest rate.  But seriously?  Who takes out a fatty loan right before having a baby? 

Also, let’s not forget I do have a better half to think about and this puts a lot of added pressure on me.  Let me be clear, he does not actually DO anything to make me feel this pressure.  However, my husband runs our finances and when I say runs I mean he holds himself solely responsible for making sure we can do whatever we want while keeping our checking account out of the red.  He’s amazing like that.  Even though he doesn't come out and say it I know the constant draining of our savings account stresses him out.  I in turn, take that on as well.  I think if I can somehow MAKE (as if I even have that ability) this all work then we can stop writing these checks every other day and he will be less stressed out and his quality of life will be better.  As his wife, I’m always challenging myself to do everything I can to make his life better.

That is the tip of the iceberg that is all the emotional stress.  The pressure comes from practically everywhere.  You don’t realize how many people other than you and your husband feel like they have a dog in this fight.  It’s almost like fans rooting for their favorite sports team.  They really want to see you succeed but they have no REAL way of affecting the outcome.  The only way they know how to assist you is to scream “helpful suggestions” at the TV screen.  I feel selfish for even bringing this up.  We are lucky to have so many people in our lives that give a shit.  BUT, I am not a TV screen and I am tired of being yelled at.  It’s my business if I want to go for two or kick for the extra point!!!  And when you lose the game?  Their face falls like they were the ones who fumbled in the red zone.  That is pretty heart breaking to see.  While I realize how fortunate we are to have so many friends and family who are rooting for us, much like the big fat babies we call professional athletes, at times I have to fight back the urge to stomp my feet at a post-game press conference and tell everyone to back the eff up and leave me the eff alone.  For the record I think I only mildly succeeded at this sports metaphor – and that’s probably generous.  But were going with it, it’s my party and I’ll use crappy metaphors if I want to.

OK now that I’ve word vomited all over the internets with very little direction, let’s get down to the meat of this meal.  We are taking a break.  When I spoke to the nurse I set up a consultation appointment with Captain.  Since we ended up in the world of infertility in sort of a backassword kind of way we never had an initial consultation.  I needed that consultation.  I wanted a chance to sit down with Captain and ask all my questions.  I wanted to know more about how my endometriosis was affecting my fertility, why she thought the IUI was ineffective and why she thought IVF would be more effective.  Part of me maybe just needed to vent a little and have someone tell me all of my feelings were normal.

Let’s back-up a little.  Before our consultation we had already decided that unless captain told us something to change our mind we were taking a six month break.  We needed it.  We hoped to save up some cashola, J hoped to become a little more stable at work (he’s finishing out a 90 day contract now and hopes to be offered a permanent gig soon) and I really wanted to get the ole bod back into shape.  For a gamut of different reasons I have been forbidden to work out for the past year.  I wouldn't say I was a gym rat before then but I was pretty decent at getting in some cardio at least a few days a week.  Full disclaimer: some weeks I may have counted doing laundry as cardio.  Between being forbidden from anything more than a brisk walk, emotional eating, and all these dam hormones wreaking havoc on my metabolism and my appetite I have managed to become a little fluffy.  Other words I've used are puffy and soft.  Amazing how one can use words that remind you of freshly fallen snow or hot out of the dryer blankets to describe boarder line obesity.   I guess I’m cleaver like that (I might be exaggerating a little with the whole obesity bit).  Dramatic prose aside, I was pretty psyched at the idea of being able to hit the treadmill and work up a decent sweat.

Fast forward to the consult.  I’d say it went medium.  Captain was extremely patient with me.  I asked for permission to take a six month break and she said that would be fine.  As long as I stay on birth control my endometriosis should stay about the same.  I asked a million questions about why she thought the IUI wasn't working and why she thought IVF would.  How my endometriosis factored into the whole thing and if there was anything aside from taking the BC pills that would help minimize its invasion into my abdomen.   I even asked for just one more cycle of IUI.  She said no.  She explained everything and anything to me and it all made sense.  She is the Captain and all.  She even said our chances of success were higher than most couples due largely to my husband’s phenomenal swimmers (I cannot begin to tell you how tired I am of hearing that!  I get it.  You admire his “stuff”.  Can we please MOVE ON?!)

 

Then it happened.  All of my hopes of new gym clothes and dreams of exercise induced adrenalin rushes were crushed.  She told me I would still be unable to exercise.  Specifically she told me to avoid working up a sweat and that I should not let my heart rate exceed 110 BPMs.  To put it mildly, I had a shit fit.  She went on about studies and statistics and crap.  Something about evolution and running from danger.  I don’t know I just kept arguing with her.  I explained that it made no sense.  Doctors ALWAYS tell you to exercise.  Clearly she missed that day of med school.  She HAD to be wrong.  What kind of baby would prefer to set up shop in an out of shape uterus?  A mistake MUST have been made.  Finally she lost her patience.  She threw a photo copy of a medical study at me and told me that every time I longed for sweat to read it.  She told me to ask myself, “what would Caption do?”.  She went on to tell me that this little break in physical activity at my age would not do any damage to my heart.  She explained that my BMI was still well within the healthy range and that I was basically just being vain.  She told me if I’m really concerned about it my only option is to cut back my calorie intake.  She suggested Weight Watchers.  That Bitch.

My husband and I talked it over and even though I’m convinced that six months is just giving me more time to get fat we are still going to wait a while.  I’m going to look into the whole Weight Watchers deal though.  I think my Mom and I are going to do it together.  It can’t hurt right?  We still have the funding piece to figure out too and it would sure be nice for J to feel a little more stable and thus a little less stressed.  Plus, and this is a big plus, we are hoping that maybe when J gets a permanent job offer it will include insurance that covers some of this stuff.  Wouldn't that be nice?

In the mean time I have several projects around the house I’d like to work on.  Some of them I’ve started and even remembered to take pictures of so I could share them on here.  The one I’m most excited about is our garden!  BUT, I have a black thumb.  I've killed everything I've ever tried to grow.  I’m only mildly optimistic but the temptation of FREE fresh veggies is just too strong for me to ignore.  I’ll be sure to post about our progress.

To sum up the summer and the longest blog post ever:  No baby makin, maybe some Weight Watchers, gardening for dummies, hopefully canning for idiots, at least one family vay-cay, and other random projects I convince my husband need to be done round the house.  

You’re Welcome. (drops microphone and walks off stage)

Class Field Trip: The Most Embarrassing Parent Moment Ever

Last week MB asked me if I would go on his upcoming class field trip to the museum.  He informed me that I would get to ride the bus with him and everything.  Instantly I agreed.

As a step parent it’s pretty apparent that I am the third favorite.  I don’t mind.  It’s supposed to be that way.  However, because of my third place status I get pretty geeked when MB asks me specifically to do things with him.  I’d compare it to the clumsy kid on the playground getting picked first to play kickball.  You’re surprised but you don’t dare question it and before the team captain can change his mind you are running up to your place by his side as fast as you can (trying not to trip of course).

I emailed the teacher to ask if there was still room and sent in my five dollars.  We even made a special trip to the grocery store to buy what would go in our sack lunch.  I’m not sure who was more excited about this field trip.  Yes I do.  It was me.

Finally the day had come.  We get to the museum, paint an imaginary animal with a real artist, and are about to go on a tour of the museum.  Aside from the sweaty bus ride everything is going great.  The kids are all well behaved and respectful and MB hardly leaves my side. 

We gather around our tour guide and she introduces herself.  As I’m sure you might have guessed she is a sweet tinny woman who just celebrated her one millionth birthday.  She has been giving tours at the museum since her kids were all grown up – probably just after WW2.  Her name is Betty.

She guides us around the museum and shows the kids several of the paintings.  She tells them the stories behind them and asks the kids to pick out their favorite details.  She even has a few costumes and props that we use as a group to recreate the scenes on the canvas.  The toughest part of my job is making sure none of the kids touch any of the art.  No problem, I can do this all day.

The fourth or fifth painting we gather around in called The Grief of a Pasha.  It’s a painting of a Turkish ruler mourning the death of his tiger.

Betty:  OK, kids this painting is called The Grief of a Pasha.  What do you see?

Random Kids:  A tiger!  A guy!  Flowers!  Candles!

Betty:  That’s right.  Now what about the tiger, do you think he’s alive or dead?

Random Kids:  Alive!  Sleeping!  Dead!

Betty:  Well, this tiger is dead and that man was his owner.  That’s why he looks sad.  What about the man?  Look at his clothes, what kind of man if he?

……silience……until……

MB:  Ooh, Ooh, I know!  He’s a TERRORIST!!!

THIS Is Why We Need More Kids

Conversation between me and MB as we pull into the garage after baseball practice.

Me:  OK MB, when we get inside I need you to let the dogs out and then get out your homework while I make dinner.

MB:  OK Mom, but first I need to take care of business.

Me:  Buisiness?  You're seven.  What on earth are you talking about??

MB:  (Whispers) Mom it's a nice way of saying I have to poop.

Of course it is.....

You People Should Have Seen This Shit

It’s a Sunday evening around 7:30pm and the sun is beginning to set.  There’s a quiet wind chilling the air as the neighborhood starts to settle in for the night.  Well most of the neighborhood.

On our deck are two seven year olds.  One is dancing around in nothing but his Star Wars undies and socks wile waving his shirt around like a victory flag.  The other child is jumping up and down with his fingers in his ears screaming about bugs getting into is brain.  A frazzled but beautiful (smoking hot even) woman appears on the deck carrying a comb and a tissue.  

As she begins to comb through the terrified child’s copper hair she tries to calm him by informing him that a tick could not possibly get through his skull to his brain.  He seems to process this thought.  The model woman continues to try and root out the nasty blood suckers but she is having trouble as the child continues to jump up and down.  He then comes to the conclusion that while the top of his head is safe (thanks to his skull) and his ears are covered (as long as he keeps his fingers securely in them) he is still vulnerable.  Clearly the ticks will now choose to infiltrate his brain through is nostrils. 

Meanwhile, the half-naked child has now decided he is a cowboy of some sort (probably intergalactic) and is straddling the railing of the deck “ridding” it, chasing down a villain that’s probably from another planet and named something that sounds like Boha, Jongi, or Dildo.  His shirt?  That of course is now a lasso.